


Weighted Memories

by DawnsEternalLight



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family Bonding, Father-Son Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-31 00:32:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13963437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: Damian has Jason and Bruce pose in flower crowns for a school project. What he doesn't realize is that the flowers he's picked for Jason's crown have a deeper meaning to him.





	Weighted Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a tumblr prompt. Special thanks to Jerseydevious for help with the flower meanings.

Jason had his mouth open, and was just about to take a bite of one of Alfred’s roast beef sandwiches when an all too small and familiar hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him from the chair with little more than a “Todd. Your assistance is required.” 

Jason didn’t have time to comment before they were stumbling to the back door and out onto the lawn of the backyard. At least he’d had the sense to keep his sandwich in one hand. Outside, he had to blink rapidly to get use to the sun. It wasn’t quite noon, and the sky was clear of clouds allowing for a bright and blue day.  

Bruce stood beside a deck chair. His attention was on his phone, probably getting work done between whatever inane scheme Damian had cooked up and the end of it. Damian let go and pushed Jason in his direction. Jason stumbled a few steps and then spun on his youngest brother. He was already digging through a black case on one of the tables. Jason noticed an easel set up close to it, and what looked like the tip of a brush poking out from the case.  

“If you think I’m going to come out here for some kind of bonding thing you’ve got another think coming, kid.” Jason said, aiming the sandwich at him. Nice day notwithstanding, Jason had not been prepared for a picnic-or whatever his youngest brother had cooked up-today, “We’re not even in a bad place right--”

“Jason.” Bruce said.

Jason turned to look at his father, who’d pocketed the phone, and had a strange half smile on his face.    
“What?” 

“Damian wants us to pose for a class assignment.” 

“Oh.” Jason blinked at him, then turned to Damian, “Why didn’t you say that to start with?” 

His brother looked up from where he was pulling out a large sketchbook and a pencil bag, “I told you I needed your assistance. That should have sufficed.” 

“That could have meant a hundred things.” Jason said. “Besides, I was eating.” he waved the sandwich again.  

“Tt. You can finish out here. I will be a minute preparing.”

Jason let out a frustrated sound that wasn’t a whine,  _ it wasn’t _ , and huffed turning to Bruce, “So what did he drag you from?” he asked before taking a huge bite out of the sandwich, with the way his day was going he’d better eat fast or not at all. 

Bruce was in casual clothes, a soft tee and jeans. He didn’t look like he was in a hurry, even though Jason would have thought he’d be down in the cave by now, using the extra free time a weekend presented to train or dig through case information. 

His dad shrugged, “A nap.” 

Of all the things Jason would have guessed a nap was not one of them. Bruce seemed to realize that, because a real smile took over his face.    
“I can nap. Jay.” he told him, “It’s Sunday, if any day was created for a nap, today’s it.”

Jason shook his head, “I’m going to ignore the fact that you sound like Dick, and focus on the image of Damian attempting to wake up the grizzly bear that you become when you do sleep.” 

Jason took another thoughtful bite of his sandwich and grinned, “I’m surprised the kid survived to find me.” 

“Enough chatter. I need you in position.” Damian said. 

He began directing them where to go, and how to stand, moving occasionally to adjust one of them, pulling a shoulder back and making Bruce switch the position of his arms were three times. Through it, Jason managed to down the rest of his food, and even savored the last two bites. No one could make a roast beef like Alfred. 

“I am doing a series.” Damian explained, as he worked, suddenly a bit shy, his voice quieter and lacking the commanding tone he’d been using since he dragged Jason outside. “I had Grayson and Cain pose last week, and I meant to do this earlier. However, Jon needed more assistance with his math homework than I expected, and now I only have today to get the next part done before class tomorrow. ” Damian was rambling.

“Damian, it’s alright.” Bruce said, “We don’t mind, plus it’s a nice day to be outside.” 

Bruce was speaking mostly for himself, but Jason found he didn’t mind either. The day  _ was  _ nice, the air that comfortable crisp kind that only came with Spring that was like cool water on sun kissed skin. Alfred’s garden was in bloom, spreading the earthy, bright scent of plants waking up after months of slumber. 

Damian’s eyes flashed to Jason, who grinned, “As long as you don’t keep us out here all day I’m good.” 

His brother nodded, and turned to hurry back to the table, lifting the lid of a box there. He pulled out a huge handful of flowers. Jason thought Damian was going to make them carry bouquets until he noticed they were braided into crowns. Twine, and probably a plastic loop for structure were the base, with different flowers- all pinks, red, and baby's breath. 

Jason couldn’t tell what exactly each one had on it until Damian got closer. One was made of red roses, wrapped together with baby's breath, and their wide dark green leaves poking out at different areas, the white contrasting the dark colors like pops of snow or petals on the air. The other was pink, carnations and azaleas separated by more baby's breath, the baby’s breath separating out the other flowers in alternating sections.

His breath caught at the sight of the carnations and azaleas. Damian had no way of knowing what he’d picked. They were the same flowers Jason liked to take to Catherine’s grave. Damian had probably picked them based on a color scheme (he was sure Dick and Cass had been decked out in blues), or class requirement. That reassurance didn’t stop Jason’s chest from tightening when Damian handed him the crown with them, and Bruce the roses.

He swallowed and watched as Bruce set his on his head, his eyes smiling, even if his face was focused on making sure the crown didn’t fall off. He hadn’t seemed to realized anything was wrong. That was fine. Nothing was wrong. They were just memories. Flowers Jason had only really ever wanted to use in one way. Everything had been nice. The weather, and being with Bruce. The calmness to it all. 

Jason would not ruin it by telling Damian he couldn’t stand for a few hours wearing the flowers he brought to his dead mom. The one’s he’d agonized over. 

When closed azaleas were inconspicuous, but opened to bright beauty, they were his fondness for his mother. The memories of when things were better, softer, the kind days. Pink carnations, a forget-me-not love letter back and forth from mother to son. Drops of soft, pink tears, of a mother’s undying love. They were everything he wanted to tell her. I’m sorry. I love you. I forgive you. Things were hard but I wish we’d had longer. 

Still, it was only for a little bit, and Damian hadn’t known. Jason settled the flowers on his head. They sat like lead, weighted memories, an immovable object. And still somehow Damian managed to adjust them with quick, delicate motions, when Jason crouched for him, setting each crown to suit his vision before stepping back with a sharp nod. 

“Excellent, now hold those poses long enough for me to get a rough sketch down. I do not believe I will need you longer than that.” 

“Take your time.” Bruce hummed, “A good grade is worth some extra time in the sun.” 

Jason almost laughed, what a dad thing to say. How long had it been since he’d heard Bruce sound like the father he was? Was it when he’d been in Damian’s place, working through the weekend to finish a project? Or had he caught glimpses of it on patrol and around the manor, more and more as he found his path taking him back to Alfred, and the library. His old room, the comfort and ease of the cave. To Bruce. 

Pink petals danced at the top of his vision, a haze of color that pulled him from one parent to another. His chest tightened, eyes flickered to Damian who’d only just stepped behind his easel, pencil in hand to create the rough lines of their figures before painting in the details.  

He had vague memories of Catherine adjusting his coat, and wrapping a scarf tight around him to ward off the cold. Of feather light fingers on his temple, the smooth way she’d tuck a loose curl behind his ear. Her laugh, made like bells through time and memory, and echo of what could have been. 

All the what if’s flooded Jason again, like a wave crashing into his chest when he wasn’t prepared. He wanted to stumble and fall and drown in it all. A sudden wanting for his mother swirled in him, a need. It was like he had given in, and breathed deeply under water, the liquid sloshing and whirling in his chest. He couldn’t breathe. He wanted to reach up and touch the petals. He stayed frozen. 

Damian’s tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. As his arm moved up and down across the canvas his eyes flickered from there to Jason and Bruce and back. 

Distantly, as though they were miles apart he heard Bruce speaking. Jason breathed, he tugged his mind back from years ago and tried to settle it in the present on Bruce’s voice. 

“--you think you were going to stay for dinner tonight?” 

“Yeah.” Jason said, surprised at how natural and calm his voice sounded, “Alfie’s making curry. There’s no way I’m missing that.” 

Bruce chuckled, “I understand, I’d miss meetings for that curry.” 

Damian cleared his throat, and eyd them both with a look that said silence. Both Bruce and Jason’s mouth’s snapped closed. He’d chatter again soon enough, but he let the silence rest between them for now. 

Minutes ticked by, an hour. It was warm. The sweet scent of the flowers kept drifting down to Jason with the breeze. The petals tickled his forehead. Was it wrong to wear them? Even for his brother? It felt almost like a betrayal. A blending of his two lives. Or something else. Something hot and cold and lonely. Something that made his chest ache. 

Was it wrong to want his mom back? To wish she’d lived and had cleaned up. To wish they could have been happy? More good times than bad? 

Was it a betrayal to Bruce to want that? 

Was it a betrayal to Catherine that Jason had been, no was, happy with Bruce?

Jason had wrestled with all these thoughts before. Time and time again. It had been so long since he’d faced them. So long since he’d been comfortable enough with Bruce to let them creep back in, teasing and terrible and heart pounding. 

The air felt stifling. Like the wind had stopped blowing, and the sun was beating down on Jason, burning the air. He knew it wasn’t. Could feel the wind weave through his hair, across his head. The brush of it against his cheeks. He was too hot. It was too much. He should have refused them. Insisted he and Bruce switch crowns. 

A crown. What was a crown? Royalty. A symbol of status. What was it to wear the flowers you brought to your mother’s grave?

There was a hand on his arm, large and warm and familiar. Like an anchor against the tide. 

“Damian, why don’t we take a break?” Bruce was saying.

“Fine, you have already moved from your pose.” the boy answered, his voice free of bitterness. It was distracted, his arm still moving. When had he switched to paints? Had it been longer than Jason had thought?

“I believe I am done with you both, if you’ll leave the flowers I should be able to finish.” Damian said, after a moment, still looking at the canvas. “Thank you.” 

Bruce turned Jason their eyes meeting. Jason could see that Bruce was worried, his brows furrowed, his mouth tight. He wasn’t sure what to do. He knew it was him who’d worried Bruce, but he felt disoriented. Lost. 

Gentle hands pulled the crown from Jason’s head. Without it, Jason felt some of the breath return to his lungs. Then Bruce looped his own around his wrist. 

“Hold on a second.” he said. 

Bruce dropped the crowns back by Damian’s bag and returned to Jason’s side, the worry hadn’t left, “Are you okay?’ he asked, his voice quiet.

No. 

“Of course.” 

Now Bruce actually frowned at him. “Let’s go inside.” 

Jason shook his head, suddenly wanting anything but that. The manor seemed too dark. Too quiet, “The shade.” he said. 

They moved together into the trees, and out of Damian’s line of sight, hopefully deep enough that he wouldn’t hear if Jason started shouting. He hoped he wasn’t going to start shouting. Jason wasn’t sure what he wanted, not with his stomach knotting tighter and tighter. 

The cool hit him like opening the fridge. It didn’t settle anything, but at least Jason felt like he could breathe again. Bruce was close, but not touching. He could feel the man’s worry radiating, but refused to turn to face him, instead he traced the lines of bark in the tree in front of him with his eyes. 

“I’m fine. Just hot.” Jason said.

Bruce didn’t say anything and that was fine. Everything was fine. Jason was fine. 

The flowers were gone, but his head still tingled like they were there. He resisted the urge to reach up and brush it back, to brush out any petals that were still there. 

“I can’t believe Damian dragged us out here.” He said, “The kid’s probably had this project for weeks. He could have made Jon pose.” 

Jason had been staring at the bark so long it was starting to swirl in his vision. Not really swirl, but twist a bit, and move. Tricks of the light shining through the leaves above. He reached out and brushed it with his thumb and a piece flaked off, falling to the grass. 

He let his hand rest against the cool bark, feeling the rough edges, a tiny sharp splinter pressed against his palm. “I was doing fine before he pulled me out here. I am still fine.” It was like he was trying to convince himself. The words pressing out of his chest like water coughed up in a near drown. 

His fingers curled into a fist, the little splinter scratching against his skin. “Just fan-freakin-tastic.” he ground out, anger and hurt twisting in him.

His head still itched. He had to know. Had to see if anything was stuck in his hair. He ran his free hand through his hair, and his fingers caught on the smooth silky texture of petals. His stomach wound itself tighter. He pulled the petals from his hair. Squeezed them in his fist. 

He let the side of his closed fist fall against the tree with a thud. Bruce still hadn’t said anything. A steady presence at his back. Silent and there. He could have been judgmental, but Jason didn’t feel that. He was waiting. Waiting for Jason’s stomach to coil into a burning hot fire that would explode. 

His fist hit the tree again. And again. And again. “I’m fine!” he yelled, “Just fine!” 

He reached back, aiming another blow, but a hand stopped him, gentle, but firm on his wrist. Jason didn’t turn around, but he didn’t pull away.

“It’s stupid.” he said. “Something so dumb like flowers. I shouldn’t I can’t I don’t know why I---” his chest was aching, his face hot and red as water filled his eyes, the drowning flood finally manifesting against his cheeks in burning droplets. “Why’d he have to pick those? Anything but those.”

The fight  and fire in him fell away with the admission. With it his legs stopped wanting to stand. He dropped, the hand freeing itself from his wrist to catch him under the arms. Jason let Bruce help him sit, turning him away from the tree, so they faced each other. His chest was heaving. 

He finally looked at his dad, his face blurry with tears and shadows dancing across it. A hand reached out and brushed his temple, tumb lingering for a moment before it slipped back and he cupped the back of Jason’s head. 

“I’m sorry.” Bruce said. “I didn’t realize, not until we were almost done.”

“‘s fine.” Jason said, sniffing. The tears had stopped, as quickly as they’d started, leaving him exhausted. He ran his hand across his eyes, then knuckled them to get the tears to go away. His eyelashes were wet. 

“It’s not.”

Jason blinked at Bruce, he was still sundappled, but his face was clear, eyes sad, “Really, B. It’s alright. It’s dumb that I let it bother me. They’re only flowers.” 

Bruce hummed. He took the hand Jason still held the petals in and rubbed the top of it with his thumb, careful to avoid the torn stinging skin on the side of his hand. Jason would have to wrap it before Alfred saw.

“They’re special to you.” 

“Damian didn’t know.” Jason said, “Besides I coulda made you wear them.” 

The hand at the back of his neck squeezed gently, “I would have. I should have.” 

Jason wanted to tell him no. And not because Bruce didn’t deserve any of the meaning of the flowers. Of undying love or forget-me-not. Of fondness and goodness. He did. But he did not deserve the death that danced along Jason’s picking them. The roses had been perfect for him. 

Jason leaned forward and let his forehead fall against Bruce’s chest, Bruce adjusted, letting go of his hand to hug his back, and moving his other hand up to smooth back the hair on Jason’s head. 

“I’m an idiot.” 

“You are not.”

“Am too.” Jason mumbled. Then looked up into the somewhat amused face above him, “Maybe I’m just too dramatic for my own good.” 

“That, I might agree with.” 

Jason sat up and hit Bruce in the chest, “You’re supposed to be making me feel better, not agreeing with me. Some dad you are.” 

Bruce chuckled, “Then don’t say things you don’t want me to agree with.” 

Jason huffed and Bruce smiled at him. 

“Come on.” Jason said, standing. “Damian was sucked into his own world back there, but even he might be wondering why we’ve been gone so long, and didn’t head back inside.” 

Bruce got to his feet and nodded. They headed back through the trees together, and Jason gently ribbed Bruce about sending Damian to school at all after everything he already knew. As they walked he let the petals in his hand fall, and trail behind. 


End file.
